Two Brides and a Duke: A Steamy Regency Romance (Parvenues & Paramours, Book 4)

by Tessa Candle

  “Or that thorn in the flesh, Wells. The man is relentless. At least Miss Fitzpatrick still thinks me dead.”

  “Wells is only doing his duty, Delville.”

  Delville waved a hand. “It matters not. Only it is very important that everyone in your household remains quiet, and never even mentions my name.”

  “I will make certain of it. Will you say goodbye to Rosamond before you dash off?”

  “Of course.” Delville sprang to his feet and gave Frobisher a parting shake of the hand. “Take care of them both.”

  “You mean Rosamond and Miss Dawling?” Frobisher flashed a knowing smile. “Of course I shall.”

  Why had he referred to both of them? It made him look odd, for Miss Dawling was nothing to him. And Frobisher must be thinking that she would require less care with Delville safely out of the way. “Yes, well… I will return as soon as it is safe to do so.”

  “I shall scarcely draw breath until you do.”

  Delville grinned. Frobisher would miss him, no matter how sarcastically he spoke. He wandered off to look in the parlour for Rosamond. Perhaps Miss Dawling would be there, too. Foolish thought. It would be better to leave without seeing her at all.

  Rosamond and Eleanor were each curled up in their own settee, reading by the light of the great window.

  This picture of domestic contentment made him wish he were not departing. “Forgive my intrusion, ladies. Only I must take my leave.”

  “Are you going again so soon, cousin?” Rosamond gave him a look. He thought she was growing fonder of him, but her eyes gleamed with suspicion. She was just a little too much like him for his own comfort.

  “I am afraid I must. Thank you for your hospitality. I shall miss your excellent company, and I hope you will permit me to return as soon as—as soon as I can.”

  Rosamond’s eyes flicked to Miss Dawling, who had sat up and set her book aside but did not speak. “As long as you behave yourself, you will always be welcome here.”

  “Now what fun would there be in that?” He winked at Miss Dawling. “Ladies like a little misbehaviour. But rest assured, I will be uncommonly polite to Miss Dawling when I return.”

  Miss Dawling gave him an unhappy look, and excused herself.

  What had he said this time? When she was gone, he shrugged helplessly at Rosamond. “I hope I did not make a gaffe already. True, I spoke only in jest.”

  “I am sure Eleanor just wished to give us a little privacy. You need not worry. Only mind you keep your promise and behave like a gentleman when you return.”

  He closed his eyes and pressed a palm to his chest. “Hand to heart, dear cousin.”

  As he quitted the parlour, Miss Dawling snaked out of the shadows and pulled him aside, accosting him with an angry whisper, “You are not leaving to London, surely!”

  Her fingers were digging into his arm, and he gently pried them loose, tempted to kiss them as he did so. After all, it would make her angry, and she was quite pretty when she was angry. But he thought the better of it. “What, missing me already?”

  Her lips flattened. “You can go to the devil for all I care, only you cannot leave that man in the cave unattended!”

  The smirk dropped off of Delville’s face. She knew about Wormshit. This was a most untimely complication. On the other hand, she obviously had not told Frobisher or Rosamond. The situation might be salvaged.

  He pulled her into an empty room, looked around to make sure no one else was there and whispered. “Assuming for a moment that I knew what you were talking about, how do you know about this man?”

  She was standing so close that he could see the minute movements of her delicate throat as she swallowed. Her skin was so lovely. He had to stop himself from reaching out to trace a line down her neck to her collarbone with his fingertips.

  “I might have accidentally overheard your conversation with him.”

  The little sneak. But he wanted to kiss her for being so brave—not only to spy on him, but to keep quiet about what she knew, and now to confront him. The woman had the heart of a lioness. He forced aside his impulse to grin at her, and instead gave her a suspicious squint. “You have been spying.”

  “I like to go visit the cave and explore. Anyone could have overheard your interrogation.”

  “Not anyone. Only a troublesome little meddler who positioned herself where she had no business being. Again.”

  “You are one to talk! You have no business keeping him locked up and secreted away on property that belongs to your unsuspecting friend.”

  “And yet, you have not told Frobisher.”

  She shuffled her feet, then stood tall. “No, I have not. But I see I shall have to, if you abandon your victim to starve.”

  Delville tilted his head at her and gave her a long, hard look. She did not flinch but met his gaze, lifting her chin slightly. What she needed was a good, thorough kissing—for a start. “You know that you will not tell him.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I can see into your heart, little spy.” He gave her a dazzling smile. This worked on most women, but only seemed to irritate her.

  “I have not told him thus far in order to protect him from—whatever it is that you are doing. For I believe he is just the sort of loyal friend who would try to assist you and become embroiled in this criminal enterprise. But if you leave the man to die, I will have no choice.”

  “What did you hear when you were spying? Did you hear the things that this man has done?”

  Her lips flattened. “Yes.”

  “And yet you are so concerned about his life?”

  “We do not treat bad people, criminals even, with decency and due process because of who they are. We do it because of who we are. This is England, sir, not some horrid little quarter of lawlessness on the continent, or wherever you have been wiling away your time while pretending to be dead.”

  He chuckled. She was tough and strong, but she still had a debutante’s naiveté about some things. “I will not disillusion you of your shining image of England, but let me just say that what England does, and what England says it does are two very different things.”

  “That is funny. The longer I know you, the more I believe that who you are and who you pretend to be are two very different things.”

  His gaze locked with hers. She had spied into the heart of the spy. It was at once frightening and enticing. As he stared into her eyes he could see something there, just out of his reach—a treasure he had longed for all his life—intimacy, acceptance, home.

  She had not preserved his secret merely to protect Frobisher and Rosamond. Somehow, despite everything, she had seen the good in Delville that he so carefully hid away. She had kept quiet for his sake.

  “Say something.” She was breathless.

  He stepped closer and for a moment he was bent on taking her into his arms and kissing her. But now was certainly not the time. He swallowed. “I want you to know—however badly this looks—it is all in an effort to rescue a child.”

  Something changed in her face—everything softened. “That makes me feel better.”

  There was a real heart in there, behind the battlements of acerbic wit. He could trust her. He did trust her, in spite of his every instinct to keep his work secret. Somehow she had gotten past his fortifications, too. “You have proven you can keep your mouth shut. I was going to hire someone to take food and water to the man, but now…” No, he could not ask it of her.

  “I will do it.”

  “I cannot involve you in this.” How his mantra came back to haunt him: women should be protected. They should not be forced to break the law and thrust into the company of evil maniacs.

  “I am already good and well embroiled. Let me do this. I know what he is, and I will be careful.”

  Delville knew that the time for him to leave was drawing near. He had one more meeting in the village the next day, before he travelled on to London. But it was best to be away from Fenimore before Miss Fitzpatrick ca
me to the neighbourhood.

  “Very well, Miss Dawling.” He could not help smiling at her. “You are a much more intriguing lady than I gave you credit for.”

  Was she blushing? He checked himself: he was being too charming. Flirting with her would not do. He assumed a more stern tone. “Only be sure you do not get caught. And no names. He is not to know who you are or where he is. Do not let him hear your real voice or give him any information, do you understand?”

  “Yes. I will only bring him provisions.”

  “And do not spoil him.”

  She nodded. “Understood. But what if he tells me something useful—something that could help to find the child. How will I get word to you?” She was already fishing out a little notebook and a pencil.

  He chuckled. She came prepared, clever girl. And she had a point, but it would be taking a great risk to leave a direction. Yet if she did happen to glean anything more out of Wormshit, he wanted to know about it immediately.

  He sighed and scrawled down the address. “But under no circumstances are you to share this with anyone.” He handed her a key and a folded note from his pocket. “Here are the instructions and the key. And please be careful. Do not go into the cell.”

  “I will only slide in the food. And I will keep your whereabouts secret.”

  She was so brave and she smelled delicious. His heart was threatening to betray him. He had to get out of there before he was tempted into doing something unpardonably stupid.

  “Thank you.” His voice croaked as he left her and bolted down the hallway to the front entrance.

  Chapter 17

  Eleanor watched the rays of the young sun frolic about the dappled sky like a golden calf, gradually becoming corralled by the shadowy trees that sheltered the approach to the cave entrance. The days were already warming and smelled of spring, but she shivered.

  She was a proper idiot for volunteering to see over a prisoner who was such a moral cesspit. Still she tapped her pocket to be sure the notebook and pencil were in place, then gripped her bag of provisions and plunged forward into the cavern. She had made a deal with Delville. He was relying on her.

  The thought warmed her as she lit her candle and found her way down the back passage to the hidden room. He was on a mission to save a child—good, noble man. Her cheeks flushed with shame at the remembrance of how badly she had misjudged him.

  Her blush deepened when she recalled their parting audience. She was certain he had been about to kiss her again, and she would not have minded so much this time, but he had dashed off instead.

  What had changed? Was he no longer attracted to her? Perhaps he never had been, and the first kiss had just been an attempt to frighten her.

  If she were honest, that was the most likely explanation. At the time he had been trying to convince her of how dangerous he was. If she knew then what she now knew, she would have more properly enjoyed the moment while it lasted.

  She sighed and pulled her cowl over her face, as she reached the door and placed the key into the lock. It opened and she reached into the chamber to feel about for the chain that affixed the tray to the wall.

  When she found it and pulled the large tray out through the door, a voice croaked, “You there! I have told you what you wanted, now let me out of this hell!”

  Eleanor’s hand shook, and she took two deep breaths before beginning to refill the empty crocks on the tray from her supply. She brought an extra pot of cold herbal tea, one of water and one of brandy. To this bounty she added two sandwiches and two meat pies. Delville might call this spoiling the prisoner, but there was no point in depriving the man now that he had told Delville what he knew.

  “You…” The man’s voice was closer. He drew a long nasal breath. “You are not him. You are… a woman.” He emitted a dry, rattling chuckle.

  Her skin crawled. Delville’s note assured her that the prisoner did not have enough chain to approach the doorway, but she still felt uneasy.

  “I can hear your heart beating. Calm yourself. I would never hurt a woman. I am a gentleman you know—a lord. I could reward you, if you set me free.”

  She swallowed and refilled a small sack from the box of coal that stood outside the chamber door. It was not a lot, but it would keep him from getting chilled. Delville’s note warned not to give him more.

  Now that the workmen had completed the project, there would be very few coming to the cave, but a large fire might produce enough smoke to attract attention. It helped that he could not get too close to the grate. He would have to stir it with a stick, and throw bits of coal in from a distance.

  “You smell delightful.” A quiver of excitement rippled through his words in a way that made Eleanor nauseous.

  There was something creeping and insidious about everything he said, but now his voice held a vague sexual threat. Why had she agreed to this? Oh yes, Delville and child-rescuing.

  “What is that scent—jasmine and black balsam and…civet? Hmm other things too. If only you were a little closer I might appreciate the full bouquet.” He took another long, shuddering sniff and murmured, “Lovely, but very expensive.”

  Eleanor cursed herself for foolishly wearing French perfume. Fortunately it was not a bespoke fragrance, but it clearly identified her as a member of the upper class. Delville had warned her about giving away any clues to her identity, but she had not thought of smell. She was gaffing things up already.

  Eleanor slid the tray back in as far as she could and closed the door.

  “No! Do not go! Stay, I beg of you!”

  She locked the door with only a slight pang of guilt. Whatever further pleas the man made were muffled.

  But there was no sound of him throwing a fit or rattling his chains. Apparently he had been inured to the routines of his incarceration. He had, for instance, replaced all the crocks neatly on the tray. She assumed that being hungry and thirsty were excellent motivations for compliance.

  Delville said that the large pail acting as his chamber pot had been emptied recently. He intended to return before it required attending to again, but if not, she was under no circumstances to enter the cave. He would not die from relieving himself in the corner. She shuddered at this revolting detail, but the thought of the man’s filth was actually less repugnant than he was.

  Eleanor was in no way tempted to disobey Delville’s instruction not to enter the cell. Even the prisoner’s most banal comments made the hairs stand up on her arms. She straightened herself and made her way out of the cave.

  When she arrived back at the manor, Frobisher and Rosamond were already eating breakfast.

  “Good morning.” She slipped into her chair and served herself an egg and some toasted muffin.

  “You really are a wonder, Eleanor. I suppose becoming a marchioness has spoiled me, but I do not think I could rouse myself so early to take even a five minute tour of the gardens, much less ramble about the countryside in all weather.”

  “It has the advantage of giving me the earliest inklings of spring.” Eleanor took a demure sip of chocolate.

  Frobisher slurped his tea and rubbed an eye. “It still feels like winter to me.”

  Rosamond slouched into her chair with a feline squint of contentment as she more thoroughly enjoyed the warmth of the fire at her back. “But if I sometimes stir in my bed of a late morning, I simply think of you stomping about in the cold morning air and my warm, soft quilts are that much more delightful.”

  Eleanor wanted to reach out and scratch her under the chin like a pampered housecat. “A marchioness must do everything in high style. It is no surprise that you should require assistance with the heavy task of properly oversleeping.”

  Rosamond merely wrinkled her nose at Eleanor and lazily stretched with supreme indifference to decorum.

  “And yet I am honoured to be of service in any indolent pursuit of yours, Rosamond. It also gives my morning walks an extra savour to know that you and Frobisher are sleeping peacefully.” And safely out of the way of all m
y sneaking around with pilfered supplies.

  “I assume Auchdun has not disturbed your solitary ramble?” Frobisher poured himself more tea from a gleaming silver pot.

  “No indeed. It seems to be an advantage to going out that much earlier. I am up and out of doors before the devil has his shoes on.”

  “Or before the zealot parson has his collar pressed,” Frobisher amended dryly.

  Eleanor tilted her head in thought. “To make himself truly odious, the devil has to work much harder than the proselytizer. I believe he is the earlier riser.”

  “I wonder if Auchdun’s absence might also have something to do with his invitation to Blackwood.” Rosamond smirked. “Perhaps he will find the duchy even more alluring, now that Miss Fitzpatrick is there.”

  “Is she? They have arrived already?” Eleanor was surprised.

  “Oh yes.” Frobisher was amused. “Laurentian must have dropped everything and harnessed up his fastest team. I wonder if the deviltante’s maid had time to pack a change of clothes.”

  “Deviltante?” That was a nice piece of wit. Was she really that bad?

  “That is what they called her when she came out. But I should not have put the idea in your head, for you might be sorely tempted to use the appellation if you are forced to be much in her company.”

  This did not sound promising, and Eleanor began to calculate how little time she could possibly get away with spending with the young lady. “If she is really as horrid as all that, it seems like too much to hope for that Auchdun will transfer his affections. Or rather, I should say his attentions, for his passion for me is entirely imaginary.”

  Rosamond was optimistic. “Attention may be all that is required. We can rely on Tilly to arrange matters well. She is alarmingly capable, when she sets her sights upon a goal.”

  “It is kind of her to take the trouble.” Eleanor did adore Tilly.

  Frobisher spoke up. “I have heard her say that it is her obligation to make amends. For it was one of the Blackwood servants who let it slip that you were there. Otherwise your whereabouts might never have dropped into Auchdun’s ear.”